


wise machine

by floweringFuture



Category: NieR: Automata (Video Game)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Minor Character Death, Panic Attacks, Suicide, sidequest spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-26
Updated: 2018-06-26
Packaged: 2019-05-28 23:38:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15060290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/floweringFuture/pseuds/floweringFuture
Summary: "I can't believe that thing decided to off itself," works its way from his lips after an eternity - an instinctive, biting remark. Attempted humour as a response to an external stressor, even as the sound of blood rushing in his ears turns to static.(After hacking the last wise machine and witnessing what it does next, 9S panics. 2B helps.)





	wise machine

_ Why were we … born? Why is life … so painful? Why won’t anyone … help me? _

9S darts around inside the machine’s mind, avoiding the projectiles of the defensive system as its plaintive questions wash over him. He’s hacked his way into yet another one of the strange isolated machines they keep coming across, in a bid to understand why they just stand and stare. Or maybe it’s the same machine? The questions asked of nobody in particular have been getting more unnerving each time.

_ I don’t need… this world…  _

With a grunt of exertion he destroys the last block as soon as its shield drops, and he’s forcefully ejected back to the real world. He stumbles a little, vision flickering for a second and pulse hammering in his ears as his systems cool off from the strain.

"Alert: abnormalities detected in vital signs. Pulse rate nearing dangerous levels," Pod 153 chimes, but 9S waves a hand to dismiss its concerns.   
  
"I'm alright..." he mumbles, more to himself than the others around him, still hazy from hacking the machine. _Why is life so painful_ , his mind echoes back at him. _I don't need this world_. The machine's voice data loops over in his circuitry - but it isn't done talking even after his exit from hacking space.  
  
"We were created to fight!" it wails. "To eliminate all others and reside at the pinnacle of existence! Yet the battle rages eternal! Our cursed cycle of destruction and rebirth continues without end!"  
  
From the corner of his eye, 9S spots 2B flinch imperceptibly at the machine's grating words. _Good_ , he thinks, a little sullenly, _I'm not the only one fed up with being abruptly spat out of a transporter every so often, having to go wrangle chips out of my own dead body._ His mind runs through a few recent instances before he can halt that particular train of thought, but he jolts back to attention as the tin can speaks again.  
  
"None of us in this world are loved! This world has no need for us!" _Okay, well, that's a little melodramatic_ , 9S thinks, _since we're all still involved with the war and all-_  
  
"There is only one solution!" the machine yells, cutting across his inner voice, and -  
  
oh.  
  
His blood turns to ice as he tracks the machine's arc through the sky, and he flinches back with his whole body as the machine hits the ground in a fiery explosion. A sound of horror wrenches itself from his throat and behind him he hears 2B gasp as well.  
  
The flames sputter out and smoke starts to curl upwards in the wind in a matter of seconds. As the shock of the impact starts to wane, they stand in silence together, watching the dark grey ashes dissipate into nothingness - it’s almost like they’re mourning the machine, he wants to muse.  
  
Instead, he has to go and ruin the moment. "I can't believe that thing decided to off itself," works its way from his lips after an eternity - an instinctive, biting remark. Attempted humour as a response to an external stressor, even as the sound of blood rushing in his ears turns to static.  
  
In the background, Pod 153 says something about his vitals again. He doesn’t catch it, only aware of his rapidly-quickening gasps for breath; air catching in his throat, coming up short and not reaching his artificial lungs. _Can't even breathe right,_ he berates himself for a second, but he's forced to abandon the thought as his legs start shaking and the world’s colours begin to split and fade.  
  
He stumbles backwards on the highway's exposed beam on quaking limbs, still staring ahead into the open air. His balance is all off and his visor is starting to flash an error message in the corner of his vision, though it's slightly obscured by the appearance of handful of jittering black squares. _Visual defects in response to crucial components overheating_ , his memory provides helpfully. _What's_ happening _to me?_  
  
As he tries to run through his data storage to work out what's wreaking havoc on his insides - residual synaptic transmission again? logic virus corruption? system failure requiring immediate maintenance? - 2B appears in front of him. How did she do that? He hadn't heard her approach at all over his gasping breath and the persistent static noise. His chest tightens. His black box is whirring hard, and it’s loud.  
  
Her mouth's moving. He tries to focus on her voice - "What's going on? 9S, can you talk to me?" she asks. She's speaking gentle and soft, like she's cautiously approaching one of the wild moose that roam the city, but it's laced with concern. Hearing such warmth from her cuts through the fog a little, but he chokes on another sharp gasp a second later and resolves to cross-check his symptoms against a database of recorded issues and malfunctions amongst YoRHa androids.  
  
The results of his frantic searching spit two words back at him and he fights the urge to scream. He doesn’t know how to deal with _this_ , it’s not in his systems; he’s going to keel over right here and now with 2B still staring into his face with lips parted in concern because he doesn’t know how to calm his racing pulse and heaving chest and trembling legs, even though he has the explanation right there and he knows what set this off no matter how irrational it might be when considering that machines don’t even have emotions or the required thought routines to-  
  
“9S,” 2B repeats insistently, cupping her hands on either side of his face and forcing him to look straight at her visor.  
  
“I, I think I’m having a panic attack--” he manages to blurt between shallow breaths, erratic gasps taking hold again once he’s forced the words out. Her lips part in alarm and for a moment she says nothing in response, before straightening her back, and moving her hands down to his shoulders.  
  
“Okay,” she says slowly, “let’s go and sit down. I need you to turn around for me, alright?”  
  
He lets her guide him through the haze in his mind without protest; her hands prompt him to turn in place, and push him gently towards the main highway. His limbs are still unstable but he moves automatically, one foot in front of the other, until he stumbles back off the girder and onto the concrete, barely making the step up.  
  
At some point in their walk she’s prompting him to sit, and he complies, too preoccupied with the error message and visual malfunctions that are still cascading across his sight as he continues to hyperventilate. His legs fold under him haphazardly - okay, he’s on the floor now, and 2B’s kneeling by his side.  
  
“Nines, I want you to focus on my breathing, and copy me,” she instructs, taking one of his hands into her own. She sounds like she’s a world away. _Always so distant, 2B…_ Her other hand has found its way back to his shoulder. “Breathe in… breathe out.” Her chest rises and falls exaggeratedly as she establishes a rhythm that he tries (and fails) to mimic.  
  
“Breathe in… breathe out,” she says again, again, again; gradually, he manages to rein in his breathing, watching the rise and fall of 2B’s chest and focusing on the circles she’s started rubbing into his left palm. With his right he tries to reach up to undo his visor - nothing’s changed on the display even though his breath isn’t so frantic anymore and it’s kind of annoying - but he finds that his digits are so awash with static that he can’t feel the fabric at all.  
  
“Hands are numb,” he wheezes, almost trying to force a laugh with tingling lips. 2B sighs next to his ear with a note of fondness, but he still starts when her hands suddenly leave their perches and retreat from his snowy vision. A moment later he feels movement at the back of his head, and then his visor peels away.  
  
It doesn’t fix the persisting chromatic aberration, but at least the overlaid warnings and symbols are gone. The road looks so much emptier without them, and 9S lets out a breath he hadn’t meant to hold.  
  
“Keep breathing slow, alright?” 2B murmurs, over the rustle of his bag being opened. The weight at his back lessens a little and a moment later she’s pressing their opened water canister into his hand. “Have some water,” she prompts. He decides to ignore the way the bottle shakes as he raises it to his mouth.

A gentle silence falls between them once the water is placed off to the side. 9S shifts a little, trying to reorganise his legs after his earlier ungainly collapse, and 2B continues to surprise him by moving in closer to his side, her knees actually nudging his thigh.

“How are you doing now?” she murmurs.

He sighs in response, gazing at the ground. “Better than earlier, for sure,” he jokes, toying with the edge of a glove. “...thank you, 2B,” he adds quietly, turning to look at her fully this time. “Why did… I mean, how did you know what to do? And I thought you’d just tell me that emotions are prohibited again, right?”

Something indiscernible even to 9S ghosts across 2B’s face. “You don’t have to thank me, 9S,” she replies once it’s gone, cool and quiet. “Maintaining peak condition is essential for mission efficiency.”

Ah, there it is - the clinical attitude he’s come to expect from his partner. Somehow, though, he can’t bring himself to mind, when she’s next to him with a hand lightly on his shoulder, staring at him with what could even be concern. She’s only fooling herself. 

Now that the wave of terror has retreated, 9S finds himself washed out with exhaustion. He lets his head drop to rest in the crook of 2B’s neck, smiling softly when she doesn’t immediately shoo him away. They’ll have to talk about this later, of course - if he lets his mind wander back at all, a new sense of panic starts to rear its head - but right now he’s content just to sit here, safe by her side.

**Author's Note:**

> Nier Automata got me good, you guys. There's a good few things I want to write about but I had to start here because 9S seems too affected by the wise machine's actions to be able to shut down his feelings the way he does (also I'm projecting but hey).
> 
> As always, thanks for reading and feel free to leave any constructive crit since I don't have a beta reader!


End file.
